


Shovel Sugar Over the Grave

by Seth_Cain_Abel



Category: Eerie Crests (Webcomic)
Genre: Arguing, M/M, Make up sex, Mental Illness, Rough Sex, sort of at first, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 01:11:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10547496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seth_Cain_Abel/pseuds/Seth_Cain_Abel
Summary: When Blake tries to break up with Malek on his birthday his plan backfires.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written by Cain

They always went in the same cycle: honeymoon, crash and burn, make up sex, repeat. It was tiring and angry and unhealthy and Blake was absolutely _addicted_ to it. Addicted to _him_. Malek was careless when they were like this - rough and grabby, desperate to bury the conflict between them. He would fill the hole with pleasure; he would shovel sugar over the grave Blake tried so hard to dig.

It was Malek’s birthday, and Blake had the tendency to derail his own plans.

It was simple, really. Blake had been poking and prodding at Malek for weeks now. It was a tug-of-war of “he loves me, he loves me not” in Blake’s mind, and when the final petal had fallen he’d been standing on the frayed _not_ end of the rope. So he did what he did best. He undermined himself in the form of fucking with Malek’s head. He left him.

Of course, when Blake said the words he had prefaced them with a mighty fight. Accusations of infidelity, of not _supporting_ him enough… He had accused Malek of having eyes “only for Weir.” Malek had actually sputtered at that one, clamoring to come up with an excuse better than the telltale _”no I don’t!”_ Blake had to admit that it hurt a little to see that reaction. It confirmed his fears; he wasn’t good enough - he was crazy to think Malek could ever love him and him _alone_. He was selfish and stupid and Malek could do so much better. So he said it, just as easily as he’d said all the other hateful words he’d come to regret before this. “We’re over.”

And Malek, oh Malek… Poor Mal, having been saddled with his burden for so long, did nothing more this time than shrug. “Fine, Blake. If that’s what you want.”

His eyes were so resigned to the fact of it. The green was faded into old moss - not the type that he wanted to rub his fingers against, but the sad kind that had already fallen from the tree. Blake heard the words leave Malek’s mouth, but he couldn’t quite understand them. This wasn’t the response his lover normally gave him. The fight was gone. Suddenly, Blake was the one thrown for a loop, floating in space like an astronaut detached from their ship. “What?”

“You heard me!” Malek threw his hands up into the air in an exasperated gesture, taking a step back before moving to grab his jacket from Blake’s desk chair. “If you wanna leave then _leave._ ” He turned quickly (pivoted, really, on his heel) and fixed Blake with a stare that betrayed how upset he really was beneath the facade. “No, better yet, I will.” They were in Blake’s house, after all. They stood in his room, feet bare against the cold hardwood as the anger rolled off of their bodies in waves. It was hot, stifling, and Blake bet if the AC were up any higher steam would be fogging up his windows. Malek pulled on his jacket anyway. Blake himself remained frozen in place while Malek gathered up his cds, shoving them into the front pocket of his soft case, and only emerged from his stupor when his boyfriend (ex-boyfriend?) slung the strap over his shoulder and turned away for the door.

As though he were desperately attempting to hit rewind on a broken VCR, Blake threw himself into action. He called out “ _Wait- _”__ as he moved, crossing the room in three strides in order to grasp at Malek’s sleeve. The other paused, and Blake took it as a good sign. If Malek was stopping it was because he didn’t want to go. He wanted to stay, which meant he hadn’t fucked it up as bad as he thought, right? He just had to… convince Mal. Make him see that he was wanted - and that Blake was worth keeping.

Without giving more than a moment’s pause, Blake turned Malek around. The guitar in its case clanged against the door as Blake shoved himself up against Malek and pressed their open mouths together. This was how he could prove it. Let Malek use him in whatever ways he wanted and just… reiterate over and over how much he loved him. He did. He loved him so much his heart wanted to beat frantically out of it’s cage in his chest. He was panicked. Malek was okay with leaving, _ _how could he possibly be okay with that?!__ He took Mal’s bottom lip between his teeth and bit sharply as his hands pawed between the jacket and t-shirt he wore. This was how they always made up.

Except again, Malek tossed a wrench into his plan. He pushed Blake back, focusing on a spot above his head and not looking at him _why wasn’t he looking at him?!_ “Blake, stop.” He sounded so tired, of their cycle or of Blake, well, he wasn’t sure. And Blake… He listened. He pulled himself away from Malek, horrified that he had ruined the one good thing he’d had going for him.

Malek was kind enough (or cruel enough, maybe) to at least spare him a glance.

Blake’s eyes were blown wide with dread and watched him carefully, as though he were afraid to breathe; as though if he made any movement at all Malek would turn to dust before him. But that wasn’t what made him dump his case unceremoniously to the floor and sweep Blake into a crushing kiss, stealing the air from his lungs as he tasted for the millionth time what the inside of his boyfriend’s mouth was like. What spurred him to that particular action was how Blake’s eyes shone wet, hazy like streetlights in a storm.

It took basically no effort at all to back Blake up until his knees hit the side of his bed and he collapsed. They were a tangle of hands and fabric, hungry and frenzied for each other like sharks swarming a feed. Blake wouldn’t be able to remember later how Malek had been relieved of his jacket and shirt, all he knew was that it had happened somewhere between Mal nipping a trail down his neck as he guided him where to go and shoving him down onto the mattress. As Blake hastened to yank his own henley up and over his head (getting caught on his own chin because desperation was the most prevalent personality trait he had) Malek settled one knee between his own and reached over to the end table. There was a small drawer, and hidden way in the back of it were individual packets of lube and condoms. Blake didn’t have time to blink before his shirt was over his head and Malek’s mouth was back upon his, searching for atonement and god knew what else.

He had no idea how Malek managed to shift them upward until he felt his back meet the headboard. A loud groan filled Mal’s mouth like smoke from a shotgunned joint as he palmed Blake’s jeans roughly, familiar fingers grasping at his own pants blindly. Blake clung like his life depended upon every motion. He was _needy_. “Please.” He gasped, Malek popping his button with one hand as he held Blake’s shoulder to the headboard with the other. He wasn’t gentle, but he wasn’t overtly _mean_ , either. Malek knew exactly what Blake needed in times like this, which was to be held but _controlled_. He needed to be a pillow princess, splayed out and adored, but he also needed to be a slut. He needed Malek to fill him with praise.

He had almost wiggled and shimmied his jeans down to his knees (no thanks to _someone_ ) when Malek kissed him again deeply, bumping his head against the wooden board behind them. But it was random, finished before it had even started, and Malek was pinching the lube packet tightly between his fingers, eyeing Blake’s body as though he were a starving man looking at a feast. He wanted… He _lusted_ , and he wasn’t subtle about it. Crushing the packet in his palm, he moved to grip the bottom of Blake’s jeans and help pull him out of them. “Turn around.” He breathed, eyes dark as he stood to kick his own jeans down and off. Blake didn’t need any more instruction; he knew how they did this after they fought. They were too ashamed to look at each other, too vulnerable as they fucked their brick walls back up. He obeyed easily, silently, pulling his boxers off and discarding them on the heap of their jeans before settling his palms against the wall above the bed.

Instantly, Malek was back on him, pressing lips to his shoulder, the base of his neck, burying his nose in brown waves and breathing deeply. It was hot, and Blake leaned back against the body he found flush with his spine. He could feel the tickle as Mal dragged his fingers down his sides (they had always been sensitive) and sighed to the ceiling. This was how he fixed it all. This was how they showed exactly how much they cared for one another. Malek was hard against him, held against his ass and bucking ever so slightly as he reached around to wrap a tight fist around his boyfriend. There was no hope of Blake holding back the loud moan that tumbled from his body as he jerked into the grip, head rolling back to lean against Malek’s shoulder. How long would he fool around? How long would he tease Blake cruelly? It was always torture, this part, when Malek looked him over and inspected every inch of flesh. He _knew_ what it did to Blake, and he did it anyway.

Maybe Blake _had_ broken them, he thought with squinted eyes as Malek skipped their regular practices and probed at him none too gently. It didn’t hurt, honestly. He could _feel_ green eyes locked onto him, watching from the odd angle for any sign of discomfort. “Please, Malek.” He hummed again, pushing back against the fingers until Malek removed them. “Te quiero. Te amo. Por favor, coge- _AH! Fuck_ cogeme!” Malek had used his babbling to cover the sounds of the lube being ripped open, and had bequeathed Blake’s request, entering him with two digits while his other arm wrapped tightly around his torso. “Are you okay?” He asked in a voice heavy and low as they rocked together, Malek stretching Blake to a litany of whispered curses. All he could do was nod, loving how close they were, how intimate the moment was. _He couldn’t have broken them. He was fixing things. Malek didn’t hate him or they wouldn’t have gotten this far._ Kisses were soft as they littered his skin, a harsh juxtaposition to how Malek dug into his body, hollowing him as best he could. Blake could feel the hole in his chest open as his body did the same.

He wasn’t sure if it had been too long or not long enough when Malek left him empty and sort of… gooey feeling. He hated this part too, if he was being honest with himself. But he also hadn’t been satisfied, so he was half crazed for the next step. _That_ was the part he liked - being taken apart. Malek was gone for a good moment, but Blake didn’t dare look back. He fought with his mind the entire time instead, the steady mantra of _”he doesn’t really want you, he just wants to get off”_ thrumming alongside his elevated heartbeat. Malek _did_ want him. He _loved_ him, god damn it, and this was how it manifested.

One hand reached out to cover his own against the stark white of the wall as Malek crowded closer again, lining himself up. He didn’t ask if Blake was sure, didn’t need to judging by the way Blake all but mewled in anticipation. And it stung when he finally slid in, he couldn’t lie. Malek was _gifted_. Every time it took some getting used to. But Malek was patient as well, and waited while Blake bit his lip, body quaking for an extended second. He knew Malek didn’t _want_ to wait, that he wanted to dive into him and get lost, and that he was probably tired of doing this every time. It was why he hadn’t fought back when Blake had tried to leave him. Maybe he _did_ just want to get off. Maybe Blake _had_ screwed them up.

No. “Esta bien.” He mumbled to his own chest despite the tightness that threatened to overtake it. He needed his boyfriend to just _fuck this doubt out of him_ already. Malek pressed his mouth to the column of his neck and sucked there, waiting just a pause before thrusting experimentally, eyes looking somewhere around the area of Blake’s elbow. He took the shaky gasp as a good sign, which it definitely was.

This was where they fell back into their usual regimen. His bed didn’t squeak, but the room was by no means silent. It was filled with a cadence of sighs and soft ” _dios mio_ ”. Mostly, though, there was Malek’s praise. Affirmations of “I love you, Blake”, “you feel so _good -_ you're  _so_ good to me.” Curses in multiple languages. Directions of what to do - “arch more, _yes, fuck_ you’re amazing” “Don’t stop, dios, that angle.” Malek bit him once directly where his neck met his shoulder, severely, forcing him to cry out in pain that mixed deliciously with pleasure. Blake was trembling as he reached down to wrap his hand around himself, trying to keep up with Malek’s rhythm. Malek had his forehead pressed to Blake’s shoulder blade, slick with sweat. His hands gripped hips tightly enough to be able to move Blake should he need to; not that he did, considering Blake was greedily fucking himself back onto Malek without prompting.

But something was different. There was a tension in Blake that had Malek lifting his head, hearing the softest sniffle as it was caught up in an uneven breath. Blake was still stroking himself, but he had turned his face away. It was weird, usually he was one to toss his head back - to groan and gasp and let Malek know what he was doing right. And this… Blake was crying. This _definitely_ wasn’t right.

Just like that, Malek felt the air sucked from the room as if they were trapped in a vacuum-seal. He had made Blake - who never let himself be that genuinely vulnerable - _cry_. “Blake. Baby.” He had paused, which had only served to make Blake tense more, back straight and rigid as he adamantly kept his face turned the opposite direction of Malek. It took Mal’s hand trapping his chin for Blake to actually look up. This time, his eyes weren’t just shining with unshed tears. They fell, round and loaded, onto Malek’s wrist. Blake was in pain, lip pulled between his teeth, and he looked uncomfortably bare in that moment.

“Oh my god, sweetheart… Are you alright?” The words fell before he could think of a different response, and Blake cried _harder_ , releasing himself in order to clamp his hand over his mouth as he choked on sobs. Where had this come from? Had he _hurt_ him?

Pulling out slowly and carefully, Malek kept a watchful eye on his boyfriend. Did he wince? Was there blood? The bite mark he had left was red and raised on his flesh, had he been too careless? “Blake.” He was overly gentle when he turned his boyfriend to face him full on, moving Blake’s hand away from his face so he could rest one of his own on either cheek, keeping him from turning away again. Good _god_ his dick ached. “I can’t fix it if you don’t let me know what’s wrong. Talk to me. Please?”

There was long bout of silence now, hung in the air like the low fog that crept from the forest. They stared at each other, Blake quaking and almost limp in Malek’s hold and Mal himself searched Blake’s face for anything at all. Finally, after what seemed like the most pregnant pause of his life thus far, Blake spoke. The words were soft and unsure, and Malek knew they were candid - Blake was warring with himself like he _always_ did. “Do you hate me?”

There were probably reasons Malek could think of that could easily lead to resentment toward his lover. Blake was needy and desperate for validation, like he had no sense of self without the confirmation of others. He picked fights and shut down emotionally instead of trying to talk it out. He threw blame around at everyone but _refused_ to take it upon himself. But did Malek hate him? “No.” He answered sincerely, hoping that his tone conveyed just how much he meant it. “Of course I don’t hate you.” He loved Blake so much it ached deep within his chest. And Blake… he followed it up with another question, just as quiet and shaky as the first. “Are we really breaking up?”

Again Malek thought of the plethora of reasons why they could. But he shook his head, repeating lovingly and with a ghost of a smile “no, of course not.”

It unleashed a fresh wave of tears, but Blake moved to grip his shoulders like Malek was the only thing grounding him to the earth. Sometimes Malek wondered if he _was_. Blake nodded twice and pulled his lip back into his teeth, doing nothing more than looking at Malek - taking him in as though he’d disappear any time.

“Please don’t leave me.”

It was less than a whisper. Malek wasn’t even sure if Blake realized he had said it out loud. But he had, and Malek understood exactly how Blake was hurting then. He didn’t respond verbally. Instead Malek pulled Blake in and kissed him, nicely this time - gingerly and full of warmth. He let his mouth and body do the talking; he slid his hands away from Blake’s face and downward, brushing over the bite mark and still further over shoulder blades. He pulled the other in with one hand on the small of his back and the other on his upper arm, not gripping, just _holding_. Although they were still perched on their knees over the comforter, they kissed languidly like this for a long time. Blake’s mouth was sticky from his tears, face drying so slowly, but Malek really didn’t mind that much.

As things tended to do with them, the moment grew heated once more. But it was vastly different from before. There was no anger, no resentment or hiding of faces in shame. They weren’t rushed - Blake had the house to himself for the weekend anyway. There was only openness and acceptance. There was catharsis, in a sense. Malek lay Blake back this time so he could rest against his pillows and soft bedspread. They kept kissing as Malek settled his weight onto Blake’s body, fit between his knees, and they only stopped when Mal moved his attention down down down to Blake’s collarbone and chest. He stared at his ceiling and swallowed thickly, hushing the voice that told him Malek was lying. No he wasn’t. He’d had the opportunity to leave and he chose to stay. That meant something. It meant _everything_.

When Malek pressed himself tentatively to Blake again, he made sure to _ask_. “Is this okay?” Blake nodded, but he asked again, allowing the other to control the situation - to stop and escape if he so chose. “Are you sure?”

“Dios, Mal…” Blake let his gaze drop to Malek’s hair. He loved how it always seemed to know where to fall and what to do, even when it was caked with dried sweat and stuck to his forehead. “Te quiero. Cogeme.”

As much as he enjoyed being fucked roughly, he _loved_ when they were soft with one another. Malek had this _thing_ about breathing in the scent of his hair, and it left Blake feeling so close, so intimate… He was free to help himself along with one hand and fist the other against Malek’s scalp, keeping him there. Again the room slowly filled with sighs and hushed groans. Blake was exponentially quieter now, but Malek knew everything was okay; the fingers furling and unfurling in his hair spoke volumes. He shifted a little and elicited a louder sound, the grip on his head painfully tight as Blake clenched around him. Keeping it up earned him a dreamy ” _right there_ ” and loosened fingers as Blake inhaled shallow gasps, and Mal took advantage of the opportunity to pull his head up and really look at his boyfriend. They were sweat soaked again and Blake had screwed his eyes shut, mouth fallen open to help him breathe. His forehead and cheeks were still reddened from crying, but Malek was struck by just how handsome he was when they were like this. He was glad he hadn’t walked out before Blake could stop him - he would have regretted it immediately.

When Blake came with a broken cry his fingers snapped back in Malek’s hair, yanking his head up quickly and making him moan right back in reply. Their stomachs were slick where they met, and Blake blankly dragged his hand up through it as he swam blindly. He was so tight around Malek that it almost hurt, and Mal wasted no time in taking two of Blake’s soiled fingers into his mouth as he picked up the pace. Blake loved overstimulation, and the mixture of Malek fucking against his prostate at the optimum angle, rubbing against his _very_ sensitive dick, and licking his fingers clean… he was all but writhing beneath the other. “Hurry, hurry, _fuck_ ” he hissed as Malek sucked hard, burying himself as far as he could repeatedly until _finally_ he too came, hips jerking erratically and fingers falling from his lips. He loved Blake. He could never leave him. He never _wanted_ to.

They used the sheet (and Malek’s lazy tongue) to clean their mess, and Malek didn’t bother to throw away the condom as much as he tied it off and dropped it over the side of the bed where one of them was guaranteed to slip on it later. They had all weekend to just bask in one another. Cleaning could wait. Blake was nuzzled warmly into his side, Malek drawing small swirls into Blake’s side and hip from where his arm was slung around him, and his eyes were fluttering closed as he futilely fought the slumber that was quickly claiming him. Malek thought it was most wonderful scene he would ever be privileged to witness. “‘M sorry for being crazy,” the slurred apology floated to his ears. “Happy birthday. Love you.”

Malek waited until he knew Blake had almost fallen under before responding. “You aren’t crazy, sweetheart.” He pressed his lips to Blake’s head and assured “Thank you. Te amo tambien.”


End file.
